Annoyance and impatience filled the Brit to the brim. The traffic in New York when everyone is scampering- not unlike tiny mice, is god-awful, and Arthur despises it. It's not very different from his own town of London, England, but that doesn't seem to come to the mind of the angry Englishman at the moment. However, what's different is that there's little roadway, and as far as the eye can see in sidewalk. (Americans also drive on the wrong side!)
Arthur's cab had been stopped for about roughly four minutes and counting, and his patience was lessening even more. There is no time to waste! After all, he is here to surprise his boyfriend. Why else would he be in this idiotic country of rednecks and eagles? The Brit hastily checked his elegant new watch, made by his favorite British watchmaking company: Robert Loomes & Co. They're entirely made in the United Kingdom, and it sort of made him a bit homesick. A few moments later, the line of vehicles began moving forward in an assembly fashion. Arthur let out a deep sigh, and leaned back into his seat.
"About bloody time," Arthur cursed under his breath.
Now that he wasn't as stressed, he began to daydream a bit. Alfred had always told him he was crazy for believing in dream-like creatures, but that never stopped him, and it sure didn't stop him now from staring out the recently polished window of an American cab. He dreamed of Alfred's surprise and his absolutely breathtaking smile. Just thinking of his beloved made his heart glow. Under all his excitement, Arthur still felt worried. He had no reason to, quite correct, but his gut had been off for awhile. No matter how hard he tried, the worrywart could not shake it off. He tried convincing himself he was just anxious to see America. So, his mind wandered to other things: tea, rain, his old pirate days, and his beloved Royal Family. (Prince William and Kate had just named their sweet Charlotte! How could he not think of such an exciting event?)
"Hey, buddy! Aren't ya gonna get out? We're here," the cab driver said quite rudely, snapping Arthur out of his trance.
Arthur paid the driver the designated fee, and briskly exited the cab, muttering a bitter thanks. As soon as he got his suitcase from the trunk, Arthur made his way to the dainty little door of Argo Tea Cafe. (What? Did you think he was already at Alfred's? Absurd! America is never up around 6 o'clock!) He had been here a couple of times before, and it has left good impressions on him in the past, so a small trip here would be relaxing. A little ding of a bell sounded when he walked in, and he made his way to a corner booth. Arthur was excited for a decent cup of tea- the poor excuse for tea on the airline was atrocious. A woman briskly walked over to take his order, and said it would be right out.
For probably the first time since yesterday, Arthur sat back and relaxed. Yes, he had an entire plane ride to do that, but there happened to be a devil-of-a-child sitting behind him. A nearly eight hour flight with your chair being furiously kicked from behind is not Arthur's cup of tea. (Metaphorically speaking- anyhow, that cup of "tea" he had probably wasn't tea either.) His thoughts were interrupted for the second time that day when the waitress handed him his long-awaited tea. He smiled and thanked her, who smiled back with much more enthusiasm. Maybe all Americans are coffee-loving powerhouses...
About ten minutes later, the tea cup was returned to the counter, and the bill was left with a generous tip: He had, of course, been in a good mood; he was to see his Alfie soon. Also, ten minutes may seem a long time to Americans, but Arthur valued his relaxing tea time just like any Brit. He hailed a cab, and told the driver Alfred's address. It was strange though, this man seemed familiar. What was most familiar was the fragile lavender-blue flower he had tucked in the pocket of his shirt. The flower wasn't native to North America, but could be found in England. Nostalgia once again came over him, as well as another wave of homesickness. Though he kept in mind that this land once belonged to him!
The cab pulled up to the house Arthur was looking for, and Arthur paid and thanked him again. The situation reeked with "Deja vu" as he once again grabbed his suitcase from the trunk. Arthur gathered his courage and headed to the front door, almost in a sort of march. He was once again reminded of his war days- even the one that broke his heart: The American Revolution. He shook off the depressing thoughts before they could surface, and turned to the door. Anxiousness filled him, almost convincing him to flee while he still had time. Gathering all the courage he had, Arthur rapped on the door with his knuckles. He waited for about thirty seconds. Silence.
No answer. Maybe he isn't home?
Arthur hesitantly lifted his arm to knock again, and rapped louder this time. There he waited again, still no answering of the door. Just Silence.
No he definitely was home; the lights are on.
Panicked thoughts began to flood Arthur's mind, but he did not allow them to get to him. He was a gentleman, after all. He could handle this. Finding the key under the rug, Arthur grabbed it and unlocked the door. The sound of a television greeted his ears, but not a living thing in sight did the same. This was odd. It's very odd considering that Alfred has ears like dog, would hear you pull in the driveway, and then shower you in "Hello!"s until you were deaf. At least, he did that to Arthur. The Brit wasn't sure if he was a special case or not. Perhaps Matthew had the same treatment? Who knows?- Not him.
Arthur proceeded into the house, calling Alfred's name, but again nothing answered him nor acknowledged him. As he neared the living room, tiny pitiful sobs could be heard. It made him stop in his tracks.
It's happening again.
The realization hit him, and he rushed to the younger one's aide. He began gently stroking Alfred's back; these had happened many times before, so Arthur knew what he was doing. America was a shaking mess. The Englishman hadn't seen one this bad in fourteen years. His heart broke just seeing his love like this. He gently pulled America onto his lap, and continued trying to comfort him. Strong arms flew around his waist lightning fast. Only now did Arthur realize how erratic Alfred's breaths were. Arthur told whispered comforting words in his ears. His shirt increasingly felt dryer as time passed.
A few minutes later, which felt like hours to the both of them, America started to breathe normally, and his heartbeat started decreasing in speed. Arthur was proud of Al for finally calming down, but he didn't feel the younger one's grip lessen at all. He didn't mind at all, to be honest- not like he would ever admit that. Without noticing, Arthur began to run his fingers through the wheat-blond hair, a color very similar to the crops and fields of the Midwest. The consistent stroking seemed to calm them both down. Alfred's sobs ceased altogether, but occasional whimpers still came out from time to time.
"That's right, you're okay now, love. You're okay, I got you. Everything is going to be alright," Arthur whispered, his voice cracking on the last syllable. He wasn't the one having the panic attack, but he is shaken by these events.
If he hadn't been paying attention, he wouldn't have felt Alfred relax. Arthur started showering kisses atop Al's head. He was very proud; it is not easy to get out of a panic attack- he has had one only once before, and it was not the best experience. Now, Alfred stopped shaking, which all-in-all overjoyed Arthur extremely. All doubts and hesitancy faded out, and Arthur began to sing softly.
"We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when, but I know we'll meet again, some sunny day...," he sang. It was a song they both knew- one from the 1940s. "Keep smiling through, just like you always do, till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away..." Arthur now began swaying them back and forth, much like they were dancing, but also to comfort Alfred even more.
"So will you please say hello, to the folks that I know, tell them I won't be long. They'll be happy to know, that as you saw me go, I was singing this song!"
Arthur paused and smiled again; Alfred would be okay now. Whenever Alfred's scared, Arthur's scared, so-
They both would be okay.
(A/N): This was a request filled for Krisdahwolf0. They requested I made a one-shot for Arthur's POV of The Light at the End of the Tunnel. (My first story, which is a one-shot I guess, and not a story?) I thought it was a great idea, so that's exactly what I did: Made Arthur's POV. I'm sorry if I got anything inaccurate- I have never been to New York, let alone anywhere on the East Coast. (Besides Florida!) Yes, I did do a bit of Research. Also, the watch company and cafe are real. (Again, Thank God for Google.)
Yes, I did reference We'll Meet Again by George DeValier. Their work is very lovely, and I couldn't help myself.
Yes, I did reference the Davie comic by Hidekazu Himaruya. /Not responsible for any tears shed.
Thank you for reading.